


oh is it in the way he calls your name

by ekoroshia



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and some of that good good cuddling action, hangovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 10:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16574780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekoroshia/pseuds/ekoroshia
Summary: (Those centimetres between your fingers and mine feel like standing on the edge of a great cliff.)There are distances Amami knows he musn't cross, and he has learned to live with that understanding. In the aftermath of a too-wild Halloween party, he comes to terms with a few things. Ouma, true to form, meddles.





	oh is it in the way he calls your name

By the time Amami woke, sprawled on a couch that was surrounded with the remnants of last night’s belated Halloween party, he’s too preoccupied with the pounding in his head to notice the weight on his chest. There are cans and cups and bottles strewn about the place, and from somewhere behind him he can hear Ouma gently snoring. The memory of Ouma being too drunk to go home alone comes flooding back in a wave that causes him to try and reach to hold his head as it throbs painfully.

Or at least, he _would_ have done, had it not been for the discovery of something - or rather, someone - trapping his arm between the couch cushions and another body. As he looks down and finally acknowledges the person sleeping on top of him, Amami finds his breath halts.

Morning light is bathing the figure on his chest in a warm, orange glow, and paints his skin the colour of butterscotch. _Saihara’s hair is a mess_ , Amami absentmindedly thinks, his free hand coming up to run long fingers through the strands in a vain attempt at restoring order. He knows when Saihara wakes up he won’t mind his hair being too much of a mess - he’ll be more worried about the state of Amami’s house - but Amami blames the impulse he’s currently indulging on nothing more than a friendly concern for another’s future troubles.

He breathes in, slowly, and somewhere in the back of his mind he registers that there’s someone stirring to his left ( _Momota, perhaps_ ) but he can’t tear his eyes away from the image of Saihara’s slow, calm breathing. He can’t bring himself to move to get up and disturb his peaceful rest. To be sure, there’s no guarantee that he’ll sleep quite so deeply again within the week.

 _It’s just the worry of an older friend,_ Amami tries to tell himself again, though he can’t deny the stirring in his heart is anything but friendly. For the longest time his flimsy excuse of it being a casual concern for the more straight-laced member of his circle of friends worked, but lately it feels as though it’s something he finds himself thinking out of habit, not sincerity.

When Saihara shifts slightly, one arm falling off the side of the couch, Amami releases a breath he wasn’t sure he was holding. A very quiet _nishishi~_ sounds from behind him, and he cranes his neck back to see Ouma grinning down at the pair of them. He hadn’t even heard the other boy wake up.

Amami fixes him with a look, trying to will the shorter boy not to wake Saihara with whatever ideas for new antics he can see forming behind those eyes. Ouma’s grin only widens at that, and in a whisper he chuckles again, “Aww~ have you _finally_ figured it out? We’ve all been waiting for so long you know! Who knew all it took was getting my beloved Saihara drunk out of his mind!”

To that, Amami has nothing coherent to say. He sputters, and Ouma’s grin falters slightly, “You _did_ figure it out, didn’t you?” When Amami’s only response is to softly shake his head, utterly confused by everything about Ouma’s words, he finds himself fixed with a suddenly steely expression.

He isn’t sure what he’s missing, but as he looks from Ouma to Saihara, something clicks. “Did I say something? Last night?”

Ouma’s grin is back in place almost immediately after that, “Oh I don’t know… That depends what kind of ‘something’ you mean! If you’re talking about some kind of dramatic confession, then it’s such a shame, but no!” The air in Amami’s lungs rushes out in relief at that, only for Ouma to twist the metaphorical knife and continue, “But… You definitely kissed him.”

There’s a pause while he tries to turn those words over his head, to make sense of them, but all that follows is the sound of Ouma clicking his tongue in contempt. “I kissed him?”

“Yes, dumbass, you did, and you better not have been joking about it either. My beloved Saihara has liked you since...well pretty much forever. If you break his poor, precious, fragile heart I’ll be forced to get my evil organisation to kill you and hide the body~!” Ouma’s smiling, but Amami can read between the lines, and knows this is a warning more serious than childish threats. He nods, and this seems to satisfy Ouma, who turns around and leaves to go pester Iidabashi, who it appears has woken up during their hushed conversation.

Alone again, Amami returns his gaze to the still-resting Saihara, and sighs. His fingers come up again to brush the strands of hair from Saihara’s forehead, and with trembling fingers traces his jawline. He’d kissed Saihara last night. That is, if Ouma was to be trusted, and normally Amami wouldn’t put his trust in that boy’s word, but something about the conviction of his warning not to hurt Saihara gave the impression of sincerity.

His hand fell from the couch, dangling alongside Saihara’s right hand. Amami noticed the brush of their fingers, wondering what it would be like to hold it. His hands were larger than Saihara’s, more calloused, and rougher. Saihara’s fingers were slender, his palms thin. How would they fit together, he wondered. Would it be an imperfectly perfect fit of rough and smooth, of puzzle pieces that weren’t made to go together, or of a match.

The small space between their hands, between their faces, the nonexistent distance between their bodies, feels like an insurmountable gulf that sends Amami’s mind reeling. What would it be like for this closeness to be regular, to be something Amami could feel in more than the hazy aftermath of a party. To hold that hand, so different to his, and feel Saihara’s heartbeat through his fingertips.

As he’s inching his fingers closer to Saihara’s, the boy resting on him stirs again, and this time he seems to wake up. Golden eyes slowly open, and perhaps it’s the mist of waking up that is to be blamed, but all he does is blink up at Amami ( _How cute…_ Amami thinks, unbidden) before dropping his cheek back to rest on Amami’s chest with a huff. He takes that as permission to link their fingers, and as he does he feels Saihara smile against his shirt.

The warmth in his chest feels like winning the longest marathon, spreading to his fingertips, and he squeezes Saihara’s hand lightly, smiling when he feels the gesture reciprocated.

To the sounds of Ouma and Iidabashi bickering in the background, Amami lets himself be carried away to sleep again. There are specifics they’ll need to figure out one they’re both rested, but for now, Amami is content to let sleeping dogs lie. Momota can deal with those two, because right now all Amami wants is to indulge that wonderfully content feeling in his heart.

So he does, letting the gentle sound of Saihara’s breathing serve as his lullaby.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry i love using ouma as the character to kick everyone's asses into gear...
> 
> "iidabashi" is kiibo


End file.
